


Forgive Our Trespasses

by avidbeader



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Rituals, Don't copy to another site, Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, Established Relationship, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Obon, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Survivor Guilt, Terminal Illnesses, or are they?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27337966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader/pseuds/avidbeader
Summary: Shiro's idea to participate in a planet's annual remembrance ritual has a much greater impact on both him and Keith than expected. Inspired by the traditions of Día de los Muertos.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream maybe all of two weeks ago that was essentially Shiro and Keith taking part in an alien event that was heavily inspired by the purposes of Día de los Muertos and other traditions around the world, then took a left turn into the Neil Gaiman-scripted "Babylon 5" episode "Day of the Dead". Character tags will be added with each chapter, but you all can probably guess at least a few of the people who might be popping up. Planning to post a chapter a day.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to [Lionescence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence) for not only giving me a theme to pin all these ideas to, but being a wonderful sounding board as I wrote. And [LaTart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903) continues to be the most awesome beta ever.

Shiro braces himself as he picks up the carryall and tucks his datapad into the side pocket. Atlas hums in his mind, reassuring him that she will be able to keep tabs on all four hundred sixty-seven crew members during this stopover. The Nauhaxtalese are almost as gifted of engineers as the Olkari. They’ve been working extensively with a pair of Altean alchemists and a team of Balmerans. There’s been a breakthrough with linking a main crystal to several support crystals, nearly tripling the efficiency and output of the original. And the process is now established enough that Allura and Coran think it’s safe to try it with the _Atlas’_ crystal.

Atlas herself convinced Shiro that it would be fine, that their connection would not be harmed, and in fact might be stronger as a result. So now he’s headed for one of the exits, dreading the likely welcome he’ll get. Most planets have a host of dignitaries that must be greeted individually in a long reception line. It’s usually a crapshoot whether they see him as the former Champion, the Black Paladin, or captain of the Coalition’s flagship. The first usually involves uncomfortable wariness. The second brings embarrassing levels of adoration. And the third tends to entail a lot of toadying as the leaders seek to maintain or improve their planet’s standing in the Coalition.

But the Nauhaxtalese surprise him. There are only three representatives waiting for him at the foot of the ramp and they are a picture of courtesy, ushering him into a vehicle with a minimum of fuss. They explain that he will have guest quarters in the Governor’s Palace, that he will have full access to their engineers as they work to install the support crystals. They invite him to a small banquet where he may meet the Governor and ministers without it turning into a production. As they ride toward the palace, Shiro takes in the crowded streets. There’s a mix of alien races in the capital city and the streets are designed to accommodate the wide diversity.

He notices what seems to be a theme: some kind of flower with vivid orange petals and a blue pistil. There are real ones hanging in baskets from street lamps and stylized ones on posters. Garlands of them are strung in shop windows and street vendors are selling all manner of crafts featuring the design. Shiro turns to Cajsa, the dignitary seated beside him.

“Is there a significance to the flowers? The blue and orange ones? Are they a symbol of the city?”

Cajsa beams at him. “That is the xemsuquil flower! It is part of our annual Hanulpixian ritual. In two quintants, every home will have an altar for the ritual, decorated with the flowers.”

“What’s the purpose of the ritual?”

“Every decaphoeb we take the time to honor those who have ascended to the next life. We place their images on the altar. We decorate with the flowers. We have verrusoca that burns slowly and releases a vapor that calls the departed back to us for a short time. We meditate and receive memories.”

Shiro perks up. It sounds similar to Obon, which he celebrated with his parents and then his grandfather in Japan, or maybe Mexico’s Día de los Muertos. “That sounds interesting. Are those the only elements to create an altar?”

“Those are the only required elements. Some families include keepsakes that belonged to the departed, and children are encouraged to draw pictures or make decorations. It can be a solemn occasion if the departed ascended recently, but usually the remembrances are joyful. Sometimes one experiences a purgation.”

Shiro’s not quite sure what the last part means; as good as the Altean translators are, they still sometimes have issues . But overall it sounds like a very interesting ritual. He spies some lanterns made in the shape of the xemsuquil; they remind him of the _toro nagashi,_ the floating lanterns that families launched into the rivers on the last night of Obon.

He digs into his datapad, checking his personal archive, and smiles when he sees that Atlas is populating a folder for him with all the old family photos she can find. He starts going through them, enjoying the warm nostalgia that Cajsa described as the goal of the festival.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  


The next day, Shiro is walking in the open-air market with Cajsa as they lead him to different stalls. He has a sheaf of xemsuquil on long stems and a few cheap holodisplays for his photos. The last requirement is the verrusoca and a dish to hold it while it burns, and Cajsa says they know a vendor with the best selection in the city.

The vendor takes a blood sample, with Shiro’s permission, and puts his head together with Cajsa to ensure that the chosen blend will not be poisonous to humans. While they confer, Shiro’s gaze wanders. He’s thriving from the energy as people browse and bargain for just the right elements to decorate their altars. It feels like it did at the Garrison, when the winter holidays were approaching and everyone was eager to shop and decorate and socialize.

His datapad chirps and he pulls it out to see an incoming call from Keith.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to hear from you until next week!”

“We didn’t expect to be done setting up the outpost on Kulfar until next week. But yeah, we’re done.”

“That’s great! Do you want to rendezvous here on Nauhaxtal? We’re probably going to be another five quintants while they finish installing the support crystals and we do a shakedown flight.”

Atlas giggles in his head at that term, sending him a mental image of the entire ship trembling hard enough to knock crew members off their feet.

“Yeah, that’ll work. I’ll have to hitch a ride on a coalition transport; Mom and Kolivan will probably stay a couple more days. If I leave tonight and we get lucky with a wormhole jump I can be there sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll let my hosts know to look for you, just in case I end up in a meeting. It’s been very low-key so far; they’re in the middle of a major festival here.”

“Nice. See you tomorrow, I hope. Love you.”

“Love you.” Shiro disconnects and looks up to see Cajsa with a small wrapped package.

“Here is the verrusoca! Now all we need is the aulla for burning it. There’s a few pottery stalls this way.”

“Thank you. Will transports keep to schedule tomorrow with the festival going on? My partner was able to get away early and might arrive in the afternoon.”

Cajsa beams. “Absolutely! Our schools give the children a holiday and most commerce is closed, but people who have necessary jobs work half a day and conduct their rituals during the other half.” They take out a datapad the size of a playing card and make a note. “I have told the palace staff to be on the lookout for him. And how lucky! He’ll be able to take part in the ritual with you!”

Shiro pauses for a moment, thinking. “He could… Is there somewhere we can step aside for a minute? I need to send a message.”

Cajsa leads him to a corner café, gets him seated, and dashes off to get them drinks. Shiro sets aside his purchases and swipes the screen of his datapad, hoping that the timing works.

Pidge answers immediately, looking alert even though the window behind her shows an inky night sky. “Hey, Shiro, what’s up?”

“Do I need to tell your dad that you’re pulling an all-nighter again?”

  
She sticks her tongue out at him. “Look, even if we’re counting by our timeline and not Earth’s, I’m past eighteen now and can do what I like. Now, tell me why you called before you piss me off enough to hang up on you.”

Shiro describes what he’s after, giving Pidge all the information he remembers. She makes note of it and nods. “I should be able to get at least a few to send to you. Give me an hour.”

“One’s enough, but if you find more I’ll take them.”

Pidge flaps a hand at him, her mind already drifting back to her work. “Tell everyone I said hi.”

“Will do. And thanks, Pidge.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream maybe all of two weeks ago that was essentially Shiro and Keith taking part in an alien event that was heavily inspired by the purposes of Día de los Muertos and other traditions around the world, then took a left turn into the Neil Gaiman-scripted "Babylon 5" episode "Day of the Dead". Character tags will be added with each chapter, but you all can probably guess at least a few of the people who might be popping up. Planning to post a chapter a day.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to [Lionescence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence) for not only giving me a theme to pin all these ideas to, but being a wonderful sounding board as I wrote. And [LaTart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903) continues to be the most awesome beta ever.

Pidge comes through in a big way and Shiro ventures back out to the market alone to get more holodisplays. He adds a garland of paper xemsuquil to hang around the edges of the table he’s cleared for the altar and talks with the food vendors, picking up a few snacks that they say are safe for a human and a human/Galra hybrid. He’ll go back to the  _ Atlas _ in the morning and grab a bottle of wine from his little stash in his quarters, just in case he and Keith are lucky enough to have a night to themselves.

He spends the evening before the banquet alternating between catching up on reports and putting the altar together. He fills a few shallow bowls with water and lays three or four large xemsuquil blossoms in each so they float. He puts the aulla, a small covered pot of glazed clay in swirls of purple and black, in the center. He plays with the photos, each in its own display. He tries putting the ones for him on one side and the ones for Keith on the other, but quickly decides to mix things up a little. His favorite photo of his grandfather gets a prominent place: the elderly man is dressed in a yukata, looking up with a smile and hands held out as windblown cherry blossoms scatter around him.

He looks at the photos Pidge found and smiles, hopeful that Keith will be pleased.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, Shiro reads up on the ritual over breakfast. He notes that many families will give each person a little time alone at the altar, to make their own private prayers and meditations. It’s also customary to light the verrusoca and leave it burning all day. Shiro uses a plasma lighter to set fire to the black disc that looks like compressed charcoal, sets it in the aulla, then puts a few chunks of the sticky resin on the disc. He puts the cover on the aulla and trails of smoke begin to waft from the little chimney-like opening. The scent is pleasant, reminding him of evergreen trees on Earth, and it gradually spreads through the room as he takes care of the reports that cannot wait.

A few hours later, Shiro sets aside his datapad and stretches. All the important communications are done. He’s gone through the updates from the engineering team about the crystal upgrade and scheduled a time to visit the lab tomorrow. Atlas has assured him that everyone in the crew is doing well, other than some hangovers among those who enjoyed their shore leave a little too much last night.

The room has a lovely forest scent from the verrusoca. Shiro breathes it in and gets up to look at the altar. Standing close, he picks up the tangy magnolia-like scent of the flowers as well as the incense. He thinks back to the Obon celebrations of his childhood. The happy ones with his family when he only saw the dances and the fires and the uji-kintoki he would get as a treat. The more solemn ones as he and his grandfather would light lanterns for his parents and clean their gravestones, pouring water over them as the final step of honoring them. The final observance, alone, a few months before the departure to Kerberos. He’d spent much of that visit wishing he’d had the foresight to invite Keith to join him and promising he’d do so the next time.

“Oh, Takashi. Look how far you’ve come.”

Shiro’s head lifts at that voice. His grandfather is standing across the room from him, beaming in approval. He’s in a kimono that Shiro remembers as being kept for special occasions. Something looks off, but he’s more focused on the fact that he’s looking at the grandfather who died not long after Shiro entered the Garrison.

“Jiji? How are you here?”

His smile widens and he spreads out his arms, gesturing at Shiro. “Look at you. Captain of a starship. Exploring the entire universe. Which is peaceful in large part to your efforts. And you’re still the same kind boy you were. I am so proud of you.”

Shiro swallows his questions and moves toward him, ready to accept his embrace, and then he identifies what had seemed off.

The left side of Jiji’s kimono is tucked under the right instead of overlapping it.

Shiro swallows hard and is unsurprised when he reaches for Jiji’s hand and his fingers pass through. The smile on Jiji’s face slips, just a little, and he nods.

“It doesn’t matter. I can still see you. I can still tell you that you have exceeded every hope and expectation I ever had for you.” He lifts one hand to Shiro’s face and it’s like a silken caress from the gentlest of breezes. “Be well, Takashi. Be happy. You’ve beaten the odds and it’s time to savor the victory.”

As the vision fades, his voice echoes slightly, shifting up in tone. New figures ghost into being, two of them. Their dark heads are together, bent over a child’s drawing. Shiro recognizes it for one of his, one where he was painting a scene of children flying kites. The edge of one kite is jagged, a line of ink sprawling out of control toward the edge of the paper.

“...no good praying that he’ll beat the odds. We have to take him to a doctor,  Haruto. We have to know.” His mother reaches for his father’s hand, trying to reassure him.

“No. If we do that, Takashi’s going to know something is wrong. He’ll ask questions. I’m not going to burden him with the possibilities just because his hand shook a little when he was painting for too long!”

“But if we wait, he might miss out on treatments that could make a difference! Medicine has advanced since your brother died, Takashi could make it past thirty before the symptoms get too bad!”

“No, Chouko! You were there, you remember how miserable he was. Even with everything he did to hold off the disease, he ended up bedridden for years, barely able to feed himself—”

“But he waited until his symptoms started to get bad! If we start now, teach Takashi what to do—”

“No! Not yet!”

Shiro stares at them, absorbing the implications. His parents had suspected he was sick. And because his father had resisted—out of grief or fear—there had been no diagnosis or treatment until Shiro was past his tenth birthday.

He doesn’t understand what’s going on. He doesn’t know how he’s seeing a conversation between his parents that he did not witness. He doesn’t know how he’s interacting with spirits or ghosts. But he can’t hold in the accusation.

“How could you?”

Their heads snap up and their jaws drop. His father finds his voice first. “Who… who are you?”

Before Shiro can find a cutting enough answer, his mother gasps. “Takashi?”

“That can’t be!” his father protests. He looks Shiro up and down, taking in the silver-white hair, the tall and muscled body, the shiny prosthesis. “Unless there was a breakthrough… Did Tou-chan take you somewhere, find a treatment for you?” His eyes slide back to the glowing ports and gleaming metal that make up Shiro’s right arm.

“No. I was still fighting the disease until I was killed in action in an intergalactic war. I got resurrected into a cloned body that didn’t have it. And now, thanks to that process, I could live for up to two hundred years.”

His mother reaches for him and he holds out his left hand. Another cool current slides over his skin as she tries to take it. “My baby. Look at you. So strong, so handsome—”

“Why did you listen to him? You could have taken me to a doctor yourself, gotten the diagnosis sooner!”

Chouko looks at Haruto, who bows his head in shame. “She was going to. We were arguing that day. I had found out she had made the appointment and canceled it. We were shouting at one another in the car and I didn’t see the light change in time…”

Shiro’s breath catches and he’s suddenly cold with shock. All his grandfather had told him was that his parents died in a car accident. Shiro had researched later, finding the official police report that theorized brake failure.

His father is still talking. “I wanted you to have a normal childhood. I saw what the disease did to my brother. I didn’t want that hanging over your head.”

“And yet, because you refused to listen to Kaa-chan, I lost that chance when you died.”

“Please, Takashi, forgive me!”

There are too many emotions warring in Shiro’s chest. He’s about to let loose with his first instinct, to waste this precious chance raging at his father, but his mother tries to take his hand again.

“Takashi, we didn’t mean to leave you. I would have insisted on rescheduling the appointment. We may have disagreed on how to do it, but we only wanted what was best for you.”

The zephyr touch from her hands calms him as he focuses on her for a moment. “I know you did, Kaa-chan. I love you for it. And Jiji did his best when you were gone.” He glances over at his father. “Even when I carried the disease, I still went after my dreams. I became an astropilot. I flew the first expedition to the edge of our solar system. It could have been the last of my accomplishments, but I still achieved it.”

His father’s eyes are welling with tears. Sorrow, love, grief, growing pride, and a glimmer of hope all churn in his face.

Shiro takes a deep breath, tamping down on his anger as he feels the spark of faith coming from his mother. “It wasn’t easy. Some parts were pure hell. But I’m here now because your actions set me on this path. It may take me a while to forgive, but I’ll try.”

Even as they fade, Shiro fixates on them, taking in their relieved, joyous smiles. When they have disappeared, he turns back to the altar to look at their pictures: the one of their wedding, one taken during a summer picnic, and one where they’re swinging a three-year-old Takashi between them. He wants to grab his datapad and start taking notes; he wants to know how this happened. Does the verrusoca have hallucinogenic properties? But that doesn’t explain how his parents spoke of things he never knew. Does it have something to do with the planet? Their galaxy is as close to the quantum abyss as it can be without being drawn in; are these time skips like the ones Keith experienced on the space whale? He wants to ask Cajsa, or the scientists on the engineering team, or give Pidge a new puzzle to explore.

He turns to look for his datapad and freezes when he sees the tall, slim figure in a Garrison uniform, standing across the room from him. His glasses shine with reflected light.

“Hello, Takashi.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream maybe all of two weeks ago that was essentially Shiro and Keith taking part in an alien event that was heavily inspired by the purposes of Día de los Muertos and other traditions around the world, then took a left turn into the Neil Gaiman-scripted "Babylon 5" episode "Day of the Dead". Character tags will be added with each chapter, but you all can probably guess at least a few of the people who might be popping up. Planning to post a chapter a day.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to [Lionescence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence) for not only giving me a theme to pin all these ideas to, but being a wonderful sounding board as I wrote. And [LaTart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903) continues to be the most awesome beta ever.

“Adam?”

Shiro was not expecting this. His entire focus for participating in this day has been family. The analytical part of his mind that rarely shuts off goes over Cajsa’s words and realizes that they never said the ritual was just for family members.

He’s not prepared for this.

Shiro only visited Adam’s memorial the one time, soon after returning to Earth with Voltron. He doesn’t remember actually mourning Adam’s death, just a tremendous amount of guilt over the situation. If Voltron hadn’t been thrown forward three years into the future, they would have returned in time to help protect Earth from Sendak’s invasion. Adam would not have been part of the squad sent like lambs to the slaughter by a command staff completely out of their depth.

Shiro had done his mourning—what little there was of it against his anger and determination to show Adam that he could succeed without him—after their breakup. He’d focused on putting their relationship behind him so he could concentrate on Kerberos.

Adam tilts his head in that considering way of his, looking Shiro up and down. “You always did enjoy proving me wrong. I thought I’d be the one attending your funeral, after we broke up. Of course there was the service for you and the Holts when we got word that the Kerberos mission had failed.”

Shiro growls at that statement. “It didn’t _fail._ We were—”

“—captured by aliens. I know. But we didn’t know that until Commander Holt turned up, alive and full of the most improbable stories. How you saved Matt Holt’s life and survived more that anyone would have thought possible, given your condition.”

And at the time, Sam didn’t know the half of it. It had been the clone version of Shiro that had helped rescue Sam and send him home.

The guilt is building in Shiro’s chest as Adam speaks. He knows, intellectually, that he could have tried harder to make Adam understand how important Kerberos was to him at the time.

_He tried to guilt-trip YOU into giving up Kerberos! You never hid your intentions from him! You wanted to make the most of your time!_

Keith’s voice rings out in his mind, forceful and ferocious. And Shiro asks a question he never dared think about too much before.

“Adam, what would have happened if I’d stayed? If I’d done what you wanted?”

Adam pauses, taken aback by the sudden change in subject. “I...I’m not sure. If the Galra were scouting our solar system—”

“Leave the Galra out. If someone else had been piloting the mission, they might not have escaped. They might have been killed. Whether the Galra would have come to Earth sooner or later without Voltron as a factor is unknown. I’m talking about you and me. If I’d given up Kerberos, what would you have done next?”

“Next?”

“Yes. Your entire argument was based on me not ruining what was left of my health. So what were your expectations if I’d agreed to do what you asked?”

“I… I imagined us teaching at the Garrison together. Living together so I could help take care of you. Getting married, if you’d have allowed it. Being there for you until the end.”

On the surface, that sounds like an example of perfect devotion. Adam committing himself to supporting Shiro in the last years of his life.

Shiro rebels against it without hesitation. And for a moment he can’t understand why his rejection is so immediate and so deep. After all, Keith had also devoted himself to Shiro, to the point where he was willing to fall and die with a mortally injured clone, the rest of the universe be damned.

“Teaching. No more missions? Not even shorter ones?”

“Takashi, you’d already been to space! Why go again?”

“No testing new jets? Would we even take hoverbikes out for rides? Or would I have to sit behind you and let you drive?”

“You’d have to accept your limitations eventually!”

And that was it. That was the key. Keith would never set limits on him. If anything, Keith would have pushed Shiro to keep going, to do as much as he possibly could, to not give up. Keith never accepted Shiro’s disease and death as a given.

“Why? Why accept the limitations? Why not spend the last healthy years of my life chasing what I wanted?”

“And if that meant wasting those years?”

“Why would they be a waste? Because I wasn’t dedicating that time to you?”

Adam flinches.

“Stars above, that’s it, isn’t it? Would you have changed your mind if Kerberos had been a two-pilot mission? If you’d been able to go with me?”

Adam pauses at that, his mouth open in surprise.

Shiro nods. “You never even considered that. You didn’t apply for it yourself.”

  
  
“How could I, since you wanted it so badly and Commander Holt clearly wanted you? I hoped you’d be satisfied when Sanda pulled you off the mission, knowing that it was because of your condition, not your qualifications. But Holt stood his ground and you left on the most dangerous mission possible just to have your name in the history books.” Adam’s expression turns ugly. “Pilot of the first manned expedition to the edge of the solar system. An achievement that not even your precious Keith could wipe out.”

“Don’t you _dare_ bring Keith into this!”

“Why not? He followed you around like a lovesick puppy, pushed you to go after Kerberos—”

“He absolutely did not do that! He always, always asked me what I wanted. If I’d decided against Kerberos, he’d have asked me if I were sure about it, but he would have supported me without hesitation. I know I was selfish, Adam, and that it hurt you when I chose my dreams over you. I’m sorry that I hurt you. But you’ve just said, even if I’d given up Kerberos, you would have used my disease as a reason to keep setting more and more limits, keeping everything in your comfort zone. Support isn’t support if you don’t take the other person’s feelings into account!”

Shiro pauses, breathing hard after his tirade, and glances down at the altar, at the photos of his family. In his mind he sees Adam siding with his father, looking at Shiro’s disease as a death warrant, closing him inside a protective cage. Keith is with his mother and grandfather, ready to do whatever it takes to help Shiro overcome the obstacles instead of accepting them.

There’s no sound from Adam for a long moment and Shiro finally looks at him again. The silence continues, stretching uncomfortably.

Finally, Adam breaks it, with a long and shuddering sigh as if holding back tears.

“I see. I understand now. I was being selfish, demanding that you live the way I dictated because I thought it was the safe path, the correct path. I was wrong to make you try to choose.”

“It was both of us, Adam. I did want to leave my mark on history. I did want to be the first to accomplish something monumental with the time I had. If I’d tried harder to help you realize it—”

“I forgave you a long time ago, Shiro. When Sam told us you’d done everything right and landed safely on Kerberos. When the Garrison admitted that you’d escaped back to Earth and the first thing you did was try to warn us, followed by going straight back to take on the threat. You were right.

“The question is, can you forgive me for trying to hold you back? For not caring enough to support you like you needed?”

Shiro swallows hard as a few tears escape and trickle down his face. He had been so furious at the time. He’d used that fury, that resentment, to motivate him even more. Preparing for the mission, making sure he was doing everything possible en route to Kerberos. Hell, it had even been a factor in his will to survive in the arena, to not give in to the terrifying circumstances any more than he had given in to his disease.

His disease is gone. He shouldn’t continue to carry the grudge it caused.

“I can. Yes, I can forgive you, Adam. I do understand what you wanted for me. I just couldn’t live with myself if I’d settled for that.” He holds out his hand, the left one by habit, and feels the chill as Adam tries to take it and passes through.

“Have a good life, Takashi. I hope you achieve every new goal you set in the future.”

Shiro waves as Adam fades away, then swipes at his eyes. Fatigue crashes over him and he has to grab the back of a sofa to stay upright as his head swims. The dizziness doesn’t pass and Shiro staggers to the bedroom where there’s a discreet button to call for assistance.

But before he can reach it, he falls across the bed and into oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream maybe all of two weeks ago that was essentially Shiro and Keith taking part in an alien event that was heavily inspired by the purposes of Día de los Muertos and other traditions around the world, then took a left turn into the Neil Gaiman-scripted "Babylon 5" episode "Day of the Dead". Character tags will be added with each chapter, but you all can probably guess at least a few of the people who might be popping up. Planning to post a chapter a day.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to [Lionescence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence) for not only giving me a theme to pin all these ideas to, but being a wonderful sounding board as I wrote. And [LaTart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903) continues to be the most awesome beta ever.

Keith is a little surprised when Shiro isn’t at the spaceport to meet him. He’d sent a message as soon as they were through the wormhole, with an approximate arrival time. But there’s a Nauhaxtalese aide at the bottom of the ship’s offloading ramp, scanning the crowd and zeroing in on him as soon as they spot him.

“Commander Kogane?”

Keith nods, hefting his duffel bag more firmly on his shoulder.

“I am Jochem. Cajsa asked me to escort you to Captain Shirogane’s quarters. I have a conveyance for us right over here.”

Keith follows, not at all averse to being pampered a little after the long hours as a passenger in a glorified cargo transport. Jochem settles him into a plush seat of a self-steering wagon and they ride through the city. There’s not a lot of traffic for midday and he speculates on whether the Nauhaxtalese follow a siesta schedule and shut down for an extra-long lunch in the middle of the day. There’s a ton of orange flowers everywhere and Keith assumes it’s a symbol of some sort. He leans back and lets himself drift for the rest of the way.

Jochem hands him over to Cajsa, who gushes about how nice Shiro has been so far, even going so far as to participate in Hanulpixia, which has earned a lot of points with them. Keith wonders idly what that’s all about as Cajsa leads him through the palace to a residential wing and helps him add his biosignature to the door’s security recognition. They pat him on the shoulder and take off.

Keith enters and sees a combined living area and kitchen, but no Shiro. The air is heavy with fragrance, kind of like cedar, and makes Keith think of Christmas trees on Earth. The biggest table, which ought to be where they eat, is covered with more of the orange flowers and several holodisplays. He drops his bag and wanders over, discovering the source of the aroma in a pottery dish that looks like a tiny beehive oven, a thin wisp of smoke drifting up from the chimney top.

The first photo that catches his eye is one of Shiro’s grandfather. Keith remembers seeing it in Shiro’s quarters during their Garrison days. He smiles over the one that has a toddler Shiro swinging between a couple that must be his parents.

Then he sees the picture of his dad.

It’s the same photo, his dad in uniform, helmet tilted back from his face and yellow fire-resistant coat slung over his shoulder. He’s grinning at the camera, clearly amused at something. The chaplain had given Keith the framed copy from his dad’s funeral service, taking it from the top of the closed casket before the pallbearers carried it out to the hearse.

A few months later, Keith had smashed the frame and torn the photo up in a fit of rage, then spent two days crying despondently over the photo after his foster dad tried to tape the pieces back together. A week after that, he’d been returned to the group home, the foster parents claiming that Keith’s placement wasn’t a good fit.

It has never occurred to him to try and replace the photo. 

“Solly tried to get me to take my shirt off. Told me I could start a pinup calendar as a fundraiser. I told him he needed to get his eyes checked.”

Keith whirls at the voice, rich with laughter. His dad is standing across the room from him, the same amused grin on his face.

“Dad?”

“Hey, kiddo. Good to see you.”

Keith launches himself across the room, intent on throwing his arms around his father. But even though Steven holds his arms out, ready to catch him, Keith plunges through instead. He’s doused in icy cold air and has to fight both that shock and his momentum to keep his feet and turn around.

Steven looks just as disappointed as he feels.

“I’m not sure how I got here, kiddo, so I’m gonna say the two things I need to say real fast. First, I am so proud of you. I know it was hard at times, a lot of times, but you’re here now, exactly the kind of man I hoped you’d be.”

“Dad, I—”

“Now, don’t interrupt. The second thing is I want to say sorry. I should of thought about you instead of letting my adrenalin get the best of me. But I didn’t think and because of that I left you. And I’m sorry. I should of been there for you and I wasn’t.”

“Dad, I get it. I mean, yeah, there were times growing up that I hated you for leaving me, but I don’t blame you now. I’ve understood for a long time now, having to make a choice to try and save other people—”

Steven’s brows meet and his eyes grow stern. “Yeah, but that don’t mean throwing your life away on a maybe, son. You ever even think about flying into some glowing purple wall like that again, I’ll tan your hide.”

Keith wants to protest that one, but he knows better. In hindsight, flying his fighter into a shield would have done nothing but get himself killed. But he’s not sure if he’ll ever come around to fully regretting the decision.

“Now, I’m not wasting any more of our time here arguing. I wanna enjoy seeing my boy again. You’re all grown up, looking more like your mama than ever. You’re doing good work. You just need to get that captain fellow to make an honest man of you.”

Keith’s face flames with a bright red blush. “Dad! I’m fine! We’re fine! We don’t need some paper to say we’re together anymore than you and Mom did!”

It’s Steven’s turn to blush. “If there’d been a way to do it and not blow her cover, I’d of done it. Bet Krolia would look mighty nice in a long white dress. And I figure your captain would do the same in a tux.”

Now that his dad has voiced the idea, Keith has to admit that yes, Shiro would look very good in a tuxedo. Or the formal dress version of his captain’s uniform.

Steven’s head lifts. “I think my time’s running out. Keith, I love you and I am so damn proud of you. Tell your mama I love her and miss her, too. It makes me so happy that you found each other. You live a good long life with that boy who loves you. And when it’s time, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Keith’s throat tightens and there’s wetness in the corners of his eyes. “I will. I love you, too, Dad.”

Steven fades away and Keith scrubs at his eyes. He’s not sure exactly what happened, but he can feel a difference. Deep in his core, he’s just a little more grounded, his emotions a fraction steadier.

There’s a growl behind him.

Keith spins and sees a pair of Galra facing each other, their postures poised and ready to attack. He’s never seen them before: one is big and bulky, with dark purple hair spilling into his eyes, while the other is trim with elf-like ears and a triangular face ending in a pointed chin.

“You will not defy me over this, Kyralia! Our daughter will be mated to Commander Velzhik’s son! The alliance will confirm our place in his squadron!”

“Huldaz, if you force this pairing, it could very well be the thing that pushes Krolia over the edge! I don’t have any proof, but I’m certain she’s been communicating with Rojan. If she runs from us, he’ll give her shelter.”

“That traitor brother of yours would never take in a young, unmated female!”

“You don’t know that! And if he is indeed a traitor, don’t you think he’d welcome a fighter of Krolia’s caliber? You certainly made sure she’s capable with your relentless training, never letting up on her for a minute just because she wasn’t the son you wanted!”

“Don’t put all the blame on me! You were just as hard on her!”

“As if there were any other choice for a female in the Empire! She must either fight or breed and if she can fight first at least she has some choice in her future! And you’re taking that choice away by pairing her off!”

“I am her father and it is my right to decide her future!”

Keith has been following the argument, growing more and more astonished as he realizes that they’re talking about his mother. That they’re laying out a path for her without giving her any freedom to choose for herself. Their voices echo, melding with those of the parents in the last foster home he stayed in, hearing them argue over his uneven grades and poor behavior and whether he’d ever shape up enough to be worth their time. His stomach is twisting and he’s breaking out in a sweat, remembering the large fist coming at him after yet another phone call from the school. And when Huldaz raises his hand toward Kyralia, he can’t take it anymore.

“Stop, both of you!”

They jerk in surprise, aware of his presence for the first time.

“Who and what are you?” Huldaz snarls.

“Apparently I’m your grandson, and thank every god in this universe that I never knew you until now!” Keith snaps back.

“Grandson? I don’t have any grandson!”

“You’re Krolia’s son.” Kyralia breathes out in wonder. She’s staring at him, almost certainly noting the familiar features in his appearance.

“I am.”

Huldaz gives a scornful laugh. “You? You’re nothing like a Galra! You’re puny and pale and any self-respecting female who birthed you would have left you to die!”

Keith’s eyes flash gold and he bares the fangs that have sprung up along with his anger. Huldaz takes a wary step back.

“My mother joined the Blade of Marmora, a rebel organization that played a key role in taking down Zarkon. She was pivotal in guarding the Blue Lion of Voltron and preventing it from falling into Zarkon’s hands. I became a paladin of Voltron as well as a Blade myself. So whether you like it or not, your line has had a major part in dismantling the Galra Empire and saving the universe.”

They gape at him for a moment, trying to understand everything he’s thrown at them. Finally, Kyralia stammers, “The...the Empire? The Empire is destroyed?”

Keith nods. “Zarkon was already a walking zombie, sustained only by rituals to feed him quintessence. Voltron nearly killed him, then his own son, Lotor, finished him off. He died because he couldn’t stop chasing power, either. And Voltron destroyed the witch Honerva before she could finish a plan that would have ended all realities, not just ours.”

“And Krolia was part of this?” Huldaz growls suspiciously.

“A very important part,” Keith growls back and Huldaz blinks, hearing the echo of his own voice.

“If she had you, does that mean she found a mate? Was he of her choosing ?”

Huldaz turns to look at Kyralia, confused that she would ask such a thing.

The images spring into Keith’s mind: his mother taking out the other scout on the team before crashing into his father’s back yard, finding the Blue Lion, and working together to protect her. He smiles involuntarily. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say she and my father chose each other.”

“And you’re speaking to us from the future.”

“I… I’m not sure. Maybe. My mother never said anything about her life before she met my father.” Keith doesn’t voice his suspicion that these two are dead, like his father.

Kyralia looks down and even Huldaz looks troubled at that. He clears his throat and intones formally, “Child of my child, I ask your good will in a matter of family honor. When you next see your mother, please ask her to consider clemency toward those who sired her and fell short in supporting her.”

“We ask your forgiveness as well, grandson. Because of our actions, we have never met nor had the chance to bring you into the family.” She reaches out and Keith reluctantly moves to take it, bracing himself for another blast of cold air.

The chill is not as strong, but Kyralia gasps in dismay when their hands sink into each other.

“This connection, it weakens! Quickly, child, tell us before it’s too late! What is your name?”

“Keith. My name is Keith.”

“Keith,” Huldaz repeats. He nods. “We are glad to have met you, Keith. May our paths cross again.”

“Thank you, Keith…” Kyralia calls out as they fade away, her voice echoing and dipping in timbre.

“Keith...Keith…”

His pulse jumps, hearing how the voice has changed to one that is almost Shiro’s voice, but not.

“Hello, Keith.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream maybe all of two weeks ago that was essentially Shiro and Keith taking part in an alien event that was heavily inspired by the purposes of Día de los Muertos and other traditions around the world, then took a left turn into the Neil Gaiman-scripted "Babylon 5" episode "Day of the Dead". Character tags will be added with each chapter, but you all can probably guess at least a few of the people who might be popping up. Planning to post a chapter a day.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to [Lionescence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence) for not only giving me a theme to pin all these ideas to, but being a wonderful sounding board as I wrote. And [LaTart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903) continues to be the most awesome beta ever.

It can’t be.

It can’t.

He’s gone.

He’s  _ gone. _ Shiro is the only one inhabiting his body now.

Keith cut off the Galra prosthesis, which snapped him out of Haggar’s mind control, but was also the only thing preserving his consciousness. Cut off from the memory banks, he collapsed, never to wake again as himself.

Keith shakes his head. He unsheathes his blade with one hand and his bayard materializes in the other. He turns, ready to strike.

And falters as he takes in the figure before him.

The hair spills over his face and down his shoulders. He’s in the tank top and loose pants that Keith helped him into after a few hours in the cryopod.

This was the man that Keith had thought was Shiro. Who had acted pretty much like Shiro if one took into account the harrowing experiences of not knowing how he’d been plucked out of the supposed safety of Black’s cockpit. Of finding himself a prisoner of the Galra a second time. Of nearly dying from hunger, thirst, and asphyxiation after days on the run. Of making it back to find that his place on the team had been usurped by his best friend.

This was the man who had asked, with Shiro’s trademark self-deprecating black humor, “How many times are you gonna save me before all this is over?”

And this was the man who had heard Keith’s vow. “As many times as it takes.”

Except Keith couldn’t save this Shiro.

And deep in his heart, locked away never to be admitted to anyone, Keith knows who he would have chosen, if forced to choose only one of them to survive.

He’s waiting, expectantly, and Keith realizes he hasn’t said a word. He lets his blade shrink back into its dagger form, but stays poised. Whatever these projections are, there’s no guarantee that they can’t solidify. Or morph into a figure in black and white armor, the prosthesis a deadly plasma sword.

“Hello.”

The figure across from him smiles sadly. “Just hello?”

“What do you expect me to say? I’m apparently hallucinating dead people and you’re the latest arrival.”

“Considering your last words to me, I had hoped for a little more.”

“You know I wasn’t speaking to you!” Keith’s voice sharpens and he tries to get a handle on his emotions. “I thought you were Shiro.”

“I thought I was Shiro, too! Right up to the moment that  _ she _ took over, even beyond that, I thought it was me!”

“Bullshit. You led me straight to the evidence of what you were. I was just too obsessed with trying to get Shiro to come back to the team to admit it to myself, that you were just a clone of him.”

“Not just a clone! You shielded me from the others those first days. You tried to put me back in my rightful place as the leader of Voltron. You forced the issue! You gave me everything that had become yours! And then you suddenly came back, all grown up and looking better than anyone had a right to—”

“Shut up! Everything I did was for Shiro, not you!”

“For me, because you thought I was him!”

“But you’re not. You are not Shiro. Shiro didn’t lead me into a trap! Shiro didn’t put this scar on my face or break my ribs or nearly take my damn head off! You did!”

“I was fighting her the whole time, I swear! Keith, I didn’t want to hurt you! I had all the memories, I knew how close we were!” He takes a step forward as he pleads. “I fell in love with you, just like he did—”

Swinging his bayard is impulse. Measuring the exact distance that will drive the man back without wounding him is training. The clone backpedals even though Keith suspects that his sword would have cut through like fog, leaving bloodless drifts of smoke, if it affected him at all.

“You don’t get to say  _ anything _ about his feelings! You are you, a separate person with your own memories and your own identity! You don’t get to steal his memories and make assumptions!”

“I didn’t steal anything! I woke up and all I knew besides those memories was that I had to get back to Voltron, to you! Keith, please believe me! I never wanted to hurt you!”

“But you did,” Keith growls out, trying to keep his voice from trembling, from rising to a scream.

“I did. Can you forgive me for it?”

And that’s the question. Keith doesn’t understand how this series of ghosts from the past is happening, but he’s beginning to understand why. He needed to forgive his father once and for all for leaving him. He’ll need to forgive his grandparents, and maybe help his mother forgive them as well.

Can he forgive this person, who deceived him, led him into a trap, and tried to kill him? Keith thought he had put this behind him, in the euphoria of actually getting Shiro back from the dead. But his pulse is thundering, his breathing quick and shallow, and it’s taking all his willpower not to tremble.

He knows he’ll never forgive Haggar—Honerva—who died in fury, attempting to destroy all realities in every universe when she could not make the one that she dreamed of come true. It had cost them the lions and Allura had almost been killed.

Galra acting on Zarkon’s orders had taken the Kerberos team, taken Shiro from him and put him through hell in the arena. But Haggar had been the one to experiment on him, take his arm, subvert his memories in her quest to turn Keith’s determined and compassionate beloved into the Empire’s greatest weapon.

(There’s the briefest connection in Keith’s thoughts, of the colossal robots sprung from biological sources, and he runs from it.)

Haggar’s actions. Haggar’s intentions.

Not the intentions of the man who had been her puppet.

Can he forgive?

Keith focuses on his breathing, slowing it down and drawing in deeper lungfuls of air. He needs to be able to speak without his voice shaking. He unclenches his muscles, starting with jaw and neck and shoulders. He only has to say this once, but he has to say it.

“I understand that you were acting on someone else’s orders. Orders you couldn’t resist. I… I forgive you.”

The man across from him shows a smile, but it’s full of sorrow. He has no trouble picking up on everything that Keith isn’t saying.

“Thank you. I hope your Shiro brings you the happiness you deserve.” His form starts to dissolve around the edges. His voice is fading as he speaks one last time.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be the one you needed. I forgive you, too.”

Keith lets out an anguished cry. He tries to control himself, as every cell in his body wants to lash out and slice the figure as it vanishes. The voice of reason, a thin thread in the maelstrom, points out he can’t hurt a ghost, that he’ll only strike a table or sofa and cause damage.

Unable to find physical release, his surging emotions turn to a mental one. Keith has just enough time to register that he’s falling when darkness takes over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream maybe all of two weeks ago that was essentially Shiro and Keith taking part in an alien event that was heavily inspired by the purposes of Día de los Muertos and other traditions around the world, then took a left turn into the Neil Gaiman-scripted "Babylon 5" episode "Day of the Dead". Character tags will be added with each chapter, but you all can probably guess at least a few of the people who might be popping up. Planning to post a chapter a day.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to [Lionescence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence) for not only giving me a theme to pin all these ideas to, but being a wonderful sounding board as I wrote. And [LaTart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903) continues to be the most awesome beta ever.

The noise of something thumping against the floor jolts Shiro awake. He’s on the bed, still in uniform, and not sure how he got there. Atlas is crooning to him, fretting but assuring him he’s in a safe place. After a moment’s confusion, he remembers. The ritual. The altar.

The visitations.

Shiro gets to his feet, body feeling just a little disconnected from his brain. It’s like the tipsy feeling just before being drunk, or the floaty sensation after a night’s sleep helped by sedatives. He enters the living area, where he’d heard the sound.

And snaps to full alertness when he sees Keith sprawled on the floor next to the altar.

“Keith!” Shiro crosses and drops down next to him, quickly checking him for injuries. He pulls Keith’s blade and bayard from slack hands to set aside and with careful touches runs his fingers over Keith’s hair, looking for a head injury.

There’s no contusions, no swelling, and Keith’s pulse and breathing appear normal. Shiro lifts him and lays him down on the sofa. He picks up Keith’s weapons and puts them on the altar. He dimly registers that the resin has burnt itself out, leaving only a trace of the cedar-pine scent. He’s debating whether to call for assistance when he hears a shift and a low groan.

He moves back to the sofa and leans over. “Keith?”

Keith’s eyes fly open and his hands swing up. “No!”

Shiro rears back, giving him room, and makes his voice low and soothing. “Keith, it’s okay, you’re safe, it’s just me.”

His eyes land on Shiro and he recoils, pushing away. “No, you can’t!”

“Keith, it’s just me! It’s Shiro, you’re here, we’re safe!” Shiro aches to move in and embrace Keith, but he doesn’t know what Keith is seeing at the moment. If Keith had the same kind of visions that Shiro did… He tries again. “Keith, I’m here. Really here. We’re both here, we’re alive, we’re together, we’re safe.”

Keith’s gaze clears and his distraught expression melts into confusion. “I… Shiro, what happened?”

“You were on the floor, in front of the altar. You must have had the same experience I did.”

“What experience? I was seeing things, talking to ghosts—”

“I know, Keith. I know.” Shiro perches next to Keith on the sofa and pulls him into a hug. Keith’s body is still tense but he presses close, fingers clutching at Shiro’s jacket.

“How? How do you know what I saw?”

“Because it happened to me, too. There’s this festival on Nauhaxtal, it’s happening now. It’s their way of remembering and honoring the dead. They set up altars with photos and this symbolic flower and burn incense.” Shiro dips his fingers into Keith’s hair, ending with a gentle tug on the braid so Keith will look up at him. One corner of his mouth quirks up wryly. “Cajsa didn’t say anything about experiencing actual visitations, so I don’t know if something was lost in translation or if the incense has hallucinogenic properties for humans.”

Keith shudders and buries his face in Shiro’s shoulder. “It wasn’t bad at first. I saw my dad.” He pauses and looks up, unshed tears shining in his eyes. “I saw my dad, Shiro. We talked, actually talked.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Shiro runs his hand down Keith’s hair again, a fond smile on his lips. “I saw my grandfather, my parents…” The smile falters and Keith is suddenly laser-focused on him. It makes Shiro’s heart fill with love and no small amount of wonder.

What did Shiro do, to deserve the level of devotion that Keith gives him?

“I saw Adam.”

Keith blinks, clearly expecting something else, but is immediately sympathetic. “Oh, Shiro, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it was...healing? Cathartic? It was the conversation we should have had before I left for Kerberos. Or would have had if he hadn’t been killed before we returned to Earth. It may have been all in my head, but it was like purging something that had been festering inside me, without me realizing it was needed…” Shiro trails off, chasing the memory of what Cajsa had said. Was this part of the ritual? A chance for forgiveness? Atonement?

His thoughts break off when he feels Keith jerk in his arms, a sob breaking through even as Keith tries to hold it in.

Oh, god… What else had Keith seen? Shiro racks his memory, wondering whose death in Keith's past would cause the waves of guilt rolling off him. Thace? That Blade who died on a mission with him...Regris? Some other Blade Shiro didn’t even know about? Surely not Lotor?

“Keith, it’s okay. Whatever you saw, it’s over—”

“It was _you,_ Shiro! The other… The other you! The one I killed when I cut off his arm!”

It takes Shiro a moment to realize, but at least his body knows what to do while his mind spins. He holds Keith tighter, doing his best to create a protective circle around him. He remembers when Keith broke through into the Black Lion’s realm, explaining to him that the thing he’d been defending himself from wasn’t really Shiro…

_Thing._

  
Shiro had called the clone a thing, emphatically separating himself from someone who had worn his face, lived his life, acting on a set of his memories. And Keith had voiced the same separation, the few times they’d tried to talk about it. Keith had always insisted that he didn't hold Shiro responsible, that it wasn’t Shiro who had scarred him.

But, lab-created or not, the clone had been a person. A person whose efforts had helped the team and the coalition. A person who hadn’t known about the bomb ticking away inside him until it was too late.

A person whose memories surface in Shiro’s dreams sometimes.

Shiro sets his own turmoil of thoughts aside for later. Right now Keith needs him.

“You did what you had to do, Keith. He was going to kill you.”

“I know, but—”

“And you didn’t know that his life was connected to the arm. You were just trying to break the witch’s control. You thought it was me.”

“I know that, too!”

“Then what is it? Can you tell me?”

“I… I hated him! Not just Haggar, but him, too! Once I realized, when you told me what had happened to you… I hated that I found him, because I stopped looking for you! What if I’d accepted Black sooner? What if I’d let my connection grow, instead of pushing Black to take him? I might have gotten through and found the truth, we might have been able to bring you back some other way.”

Shiro runs a hand up Keith’s back. He presses a kiss to Keith’s forehead, then rests their heads together. “But you did bring me back, Keith. Even after Allura drew me out of Black and into this body, it was your strength that kept me here.”

“But I failed you…”

Shiro takes Keith’s face in his hands, tilting it up so they can look at one another. 

“You have never, ever failed me, Keith. Not once. Please hear what I’m saying. You have been there every step of the way since you walked into my life. Yes, we went through some truly awful shit to get here, but we’re here now. I love you, I have you beside me as the truly equal partner I always wanted. You have nothing to feel guilty about.

“Hating him is a reasonable reaction. And it’s not a blind hatred; he tricked you, all of you. He may not have known it, but there was an evil force behind his existence that helped place him among you. If what we just experienced leads you to forgive him, that’s all well and good. But if you can’t forgive, I’m not going to hold it against you. You’re human, Keith.”

The tiniest smile plucks Keith’s lips.

“Fine, half human. But what I said stands. If you need my forgiveness for what you feel, you have it, but nothing has changed about how I feel for you. I told Adam how you never once stopped believing in me and supporting me. So believe me when I say I will always support you.”

Keith slumps against him once more, tears soaking into Shiro’s chest, but they’re tears of relief, not guilt. Shiro holds him close, letting a few tears of his own fall as he promises to himself to do better by Keith, reassure him more often, let him know how much Shiro loves him and is awed and humbled that Keith returns that love so fervently.

It’s not until later, after faces have been washed and clothes changed, that Keith approaches the altar again. He picks up one of the photos that Pidge had found, of a pair of Galra in formal military attire among a group of others. Shiro thinks it’s a wedding photo, only because they have crowns of flowers and are the center of attention.

Keith is studying the photo closely, possibly noting how the larger one’s hair trails over his face or the curve of the smaller one’s jaw. “Where did you find this?”

“Pidge sent it. When you said you might arrive today, I wanted to include you in the Hanulpixian festival. I asked her to try and track down any pictures of your dad and grandparents. That was among the ones she sent, labeled as Krolia’s parents. Why?”

“They were one of my visions. They were arguing over arranging a marriage for her. I have a feeling she didn’t have much of a relationship with them.” Keith sighs and puts the photo back. “I think I’m going to have to talk to her sometime.”

“Say the word and I’ll be there with you when you do.”


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done with this one! I may find a sequel to this, writing out how Krolia lays her ghosts to rest and Shiro and Keith finally have a talk about all the things they've kept putting aside for far too long, but for now, this is it.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to [Lionescence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence) for not only giving me a theme to pin all these ideas to, but being a wonderful sounding board as I wrote. And [LaTart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903) continues to be the most awesome beta ever.

It’s about a month after the stopover on Nauhaxtal when Krolia has an opportunity to rendezvous with the  _ Atlas. _ Shiro and Keith are in their shared quarters, each working through a pile of the things that always demand their attention, when Shiro looks up and laughs.

“Your mom has docked. Atlas has already anchored her pod in the hangar and is about to shift a hallway to take her straight here.”

Keith is still slowly working his way through the aftermath of their visit to Nauhaxtal, but he is thoroughly grateful for their work on the crystals. The connection between Shiro and Atlas is more seamless than ever, and if that makes Keith miss the lions a little more than before, he’ll just have to keep living with it.

He gets up and starts clearing the table of the two datapads he was working with, along with Shiro’s five. Atlas doesn’t even give Krolia a chance to knock, sliding the door open for her while she’s still a meter away.

She sets her travel bag down and holds her arms out. “Hello, little star.”

Keith goes into her arms and hugs her, hard. “Hi, mom. How did the talks go?”

There’s been a push to find a planet and designate it as New Daibazaal. But the debates on where have stretched out for phoebs.

“We may finally be getting somewhere. Kolivan and I have teamed up with a few members of rival factions to whittle down the possibilities. We keep suggesting the most outrageous options, herding them to the optimal choices.”

Keith grins. “That’s brilliant!”

“Although I thought Kolivan was going to blow our strategy: he almost cackled when I mentioned a red planet in sector X-9-Y with light occupancy…”

That triggers a belly laugh from Keith and Shiro comes back into the room, having changed from his uniform to casual clothes. “I heard that and I would have lost my poker face as well. Can you join us for dinner?”

Krolia nods. “That would be wonderful.”

Keith waits until they are finishing dessert, and glances Shiro’s way. When he gets the nod of agreement, Keith fetches a datapad and brings up a file. “Pidge found this a month ago. She says she tried to contact you first, but when you weren’t available she broke into some Galra database and searched your name.” Keith projects the photo as a hologram above the screen and Krolia freezes.

“Those are my grandparents, aren’t they?”

“They are,” she replies, her voice flat.

“Is my great-uncle Rojan in this photo?”

Krolia’s attention jerks back to him. “No, he—how did you get his name?”

“Are you familiar with the ritual of Hanulpixia on Nauhaxtal?”

Krolia shakes her head. “Not really. Something to do with honoring the dead?”

Keith can feel anxiety building as he remembers. Shiro catches his eye, takes his hand, and steps in without hesitation.

“Yes, but it’s an intensely personal ritual of remembrance. I still don’t know if it was a hallucination or some kind of time pocket or what, but we had visions of people who had died. Family, friends, but people who we needed to make contact with because of things unresolved…or who needed to contact us. I saw my parents and grandfather and an ex-boyfriend.”

“I saw Dad. He said to tell you he loves you and misses you.”

That brings a wistful smile to Krolia’s face, but her expression shutters when Keith points at the image.

“And I saw them. Huldaz and Kyralia. They were arguing about pairing you off with someone, and I heard enough to make some educated guesses.”

Krolia looks away, biting her lip, and Keith reaches over with his free hand to take hers.

“They asked me to bring you their apologies. They admitted they were wrong to treat you the way they did. They hope you’ll be able to forgive them someday.”

Krolia lets out a disbelieving huff and Keith tightens his hand around hers.

“If you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s fine. But I’ll be happy to listen when you do feel like talking about it.”

Shiro leans forward. “We both will.”

Krolia holds out her other hand and Shiro takes it. “I’d rather let the past...the dead stay buried.”

Keith glances at Shiro, who presses his lips together but nods. Keith takes a deep breath. “Well, the dead don’t always cooperate like that. But it’s your decision, mom. We’re here for you either way.”

Krolia is looking at them both. Keith’s not sure what she’s seeing, but it seems to give her a pleased satisfaction. She draws their hands to her, kissing first Keith’s knuckles, then Shiro’s. “I’ll take it under advisement. But in the meantime, I’d much rather focus on the present and the future. Because that’s where my best family is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
